


Whumptober Works

by Bohemian (Linguam)



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: #SaveShadowhunters, Angst, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, See individual chapters for additional tags, Whump, Whumptober 2018, all the whump, that's almost a guarantee
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-07-23 11:33:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16158146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linguam/pseuds/Bohemian
Summary: Some Malec whump to balance out the fluff.





	1. Stabbed

**Author's Note:**

> Because I'll need to balance out the Flufftober Ficlets collection, lol.
> 
> I haven't planned for this installation either so whatever stories may come in the future will follow the same limit of 500 words as the Flufftober fics; that being said, since _this_ story was already semi-finished and since there is no "nightmares" prompt, I figured why not start off strong. Its relation to the first word of the month is pretty much of a stretch, but oh well. (Also, I have now officially exceeded 2K words on a Malec fanfic, wohoo! *does happy dance*)
> 
> Based on the poster found here: http://brokenfannibal.tumblr.com/post/178482459312 (thank you for notifying me, brokenfannibal! <3)
> 
>  **Warnings:** Some self-hate ahoy.

Sometimes, Magnus gets nightmares.

Considering the life he’s had and the things he’s seen, it’s hardly surprising.

Most times, he knows they’re coming: when days have bleed into weeks with no or very little sleep, or when something reminds him of things best left forgotten. He knows the signs, and he likes to think that the knowledge of their likely arrival helps, but it doesn’t, not really. They still come, and he’s still helpless to stop them.

The best he can do is distract himself, bury himself in work or excess drinking or lascivious activities and hope that the demons in his mind will grow tired of waiting for a chance to strike and leave him be. Centuries of living make for a plethora of bad memories and it rarely works, but it has developed into something of a tic. Although you can teach an old dog new tricks, it takes a considerable amount of effort and patience, and Magnus has yet to master the art of the latter.

He takes some small amount of comfort in knowing, though, because at least then he can plan for it: postpone any morning meetings until the afternoon—or, even better, the next day—make sure he’ll spend the night alone, so he doesn’t have to muffle any potential sounds, doesn’t have to worry about having to explain himself if his partner is awoken by his occasional thrashing. His nightmares are usually quiet: they approach like slithering snakes, weave their way around his body and weasel into his mind, breathing poisonous air to corrupt fond memories, and by the time he realizes what is happening, he’s too shackled by fear to be able to move, can hardly breathe to speak let along cry out.

Still, he doesn’t like feeling vulnerable in the presence of other people—even if those other people are sound asleep next to him. So, when he feels them coming, if possible, Magnus doesn’t sleep. He prolongs it as long as he’s able, because no matter how many times he tells himself that it isn’t real, that even those that are more memory than nightmare are twisted and contorted, he never knows exactly what to expect, he never knows what shape they will take, this time, only knows that once they take hold of him, he’ll be powerless to stop them.

Magnus has been truly powerless in the past. He’ll do anything never to experience that feeling again, including fooling himself into believing he has some semblance of control in a situation where he is clearly the puppet, not the puppeteer.

But it only works when he knows they’re coming.

Sometimes, they sneak past even Magnus’s defenses without setting off any alarms. Times when there is no forewarning, no disconcerting event or niggling feeling to indicate that his mind will be captured tonight. It’s rare, but it happens.

The moment when Magnus opens his inner eye and fire takes up his entire field of vision, he knows tonight is one of those nights.

He sees the faces of all the people he has loved and outlived: close friends, lovers, and passing acquaintances alike, people that made a difference to him, people he treasured, people he has so many fond memories of.

But in the dreams, there is only the bad.

Only the metallic tang of blood invading his nostrils, the accusing glare from empty eye sockets, the overwhelming, nauseating stench of decay. Only bony fingers reaching for him, jaws unhinged and mouths open, worms slithering over blackened tongues. The wound on Ragnor’s throat is black and charred around the edges, currents of deep red flowing freely, and Magnus desperately wants to reach out, to stop this from happening, can’t see this happen _again,_ but he can’t move because then his mother is there—his mother is there staring at him with sad, brown eyes, the _keris_ sticking out of her chest, and she raises one fleshless hand and draws it out with a sickening _cluck_ and then grabs Magnus by the neck, bony fingers digging into his flesh in a crushing, unforgiving grip hard enough to bruise as she raises the _keris_ and stabs it into his eyes and Magnus _screams—_

Something touches his arm.

He lashes out, fueled by instinct and blinding, white-hot terror; although he knows he holds no real power here in this contorted dreamland, that he is helpless, he can almost feel the magic burn within him, flowing into his hands and shooting from his fingers as it dislodges the grip on his arm.

There is a loud crash followed by a pained groan.

It doesn’t come from within Magnus’s head.

Magnus shoots up in bed, eyes wide and hand still outstretched. His lungs burn with every ragged breath, the only audible sound in the bedroom.

The bedroom.

Loft. Brooklyn.

Safe.

He blinks into the darkness, ignores the unnatural slide of the shadows’ wispy contours trying to pull him back in and…

His eyes fall on a familiar tall form, crumbled against the far-off wall.

For a brief moment, everything just stops.

Horror seizes Magnus’s chest.

_Oh, god._

_No._

_No no no no no…_

Alec gives a soft groan and he pushes himself up into a sitting position. He lifts a hand and gingerly touches the back of his head; even in the barely lit room, Magnus can still make out the wetness coating his fingers, how it trails down the side of his throat.

Unbidding, the image of Alec’s distorted face one day being in that assembly of loved ones flashes through Magnus’s mind.

Bile shoots up his throat.

He flings himself off the bed and rushes towards the bathroom, reaching it just in time to start retching into the toilet. Blood roars in his ears, the bitter acid of vomit burning up his throat as he continues to gasp and cough and heave like he can’t remember doing even on his worst benders, until there is nothing left for him to bring up.

Shame seamlessly slides in, filling the ensuing void.

He senses Alec’s presence, but can’t bring himself to turn around and look at him. 

“Magnus.” The touch of fingers on his arm is a mere brush of skin but Magnus still shudders. “Hey, you okay?”

He tries to take a deep breath, but it hitches halfway through.

“Sorry,” he croaks out. He sounds like he’s swallowed a container’s worth of glass. “Sorry, I didn’t- didn’t mean to- I—”

“Hey, it’s all right,” Alec shushes him softly, nothing but earnest reassurance and concern in his voice. “It’s all right. I’m all right.”

Magnus shakes his head furiously, because it’s not—it’s _not._ He hurt Alec—no matter how unintentionally, _he hurt Alec,_ and he can’t- can’t—

His chest stutters. Vaguely, he realizes that tears are streaming down his face.

The fingers that had been grazing his arm move to grip his shoulder. Warm and solid and _there._

“I got you, okay?” Alec slowly pulls him closer until he’s cradling Magnus’s head against his chest. He presses a kiss to Magnus’s forehead. “I got you.”

Magnus listens for the disgust, tries to find a single trace of judgement, and doesn’t hear it.

More tears tumble down his cheeks.

“Your head,” he says hoarsely. “I saw blood…”

“Nothing a quick _iratze_ couldn’t fix,” Alec reassures calmly. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Alec, I’m so sorry…”

“It wasn’t your fault, Magnus. I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that.” Alec’s fingers card through Magnus’s sweaty hair as if it doesn’t bother him in the slightest. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Another shudder ripples through him and Magnus doesn’t have the energy to fight anymore. Instead, he presses into the warmth of Alec’s body, hides his face in Alec’s chest, and lets himself fall apart.

.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Alec asks quietly.

They have moved from the bathroom floor and into the living room and are currently huddled under a blanket on the couch, twin mugs of tea in their hands. The TV is on low, but neither of them are really paying any attention to it.

Magnus takes another sip before answering. His fingers still tremble.

He grips the mug tighter.

“Not really.” His voice still comes out slightly scratchy from all the screaming and retching.

He sees Alec nod in his periphery.

“Okay.” A pause. “Did something happen today?” The _did someone do something_ and _do I need to go hunt some bastard down_ is so heavily implied that Magnus can’t help but smile.

“No.” He shakes his head. “No, it was just… random.”

It feels stupid, saying it out loud, but before the shame and embarrassment can really take hold, Alec leans in and plants a gentle kiss at his temple.

“Okay,” he says again, and it shouldn’t be that easy but, coming from Alec, it somehow is.

Alec stays there, breathing deep and nose buried in Magnus’s hair, which is the only reason Magnus feels him stave off a yawn—what must be the third one in as many minutes.

“You don’t have to stay up with me, Alec,” he says softly. “I’ll be fine on my own. Really.”

Alec shakes his head.

“Nah, I’m good.”

“You’ve had a long day,” Magnus points out, fondness chasing away some of the leftover fear when Alec doesn’t quite succeed in reining in another yawn. “You’re clearly tired. You need to sleep.”

Alec hums. He nuzzles into Magnus’s hair.

“Wherever you are, that’s where I need to be,” he mumbles sleepily, and Magnus closes his eyes.

This man, he thinks in wonder. This man will be the death of him.

He can’t find it in him to care.

“Hey, Magnus?”

“Mm?”

“Can you look at me, please?”

Magnus swallows. He knew this would come.

He forces a smile.

“But I’m enjoying the show.”

“It’s an infomercial about vacuum cleaners,” Alec deadpans, and Magnus swears he can actually _hear_ an eyeroll in there somewhere. “Last time I checked, you don’t even own one.”

“Maybe I’m thinking about investing.”

“Magnus.”

Magnus sighs, realizing that Alec won’t let this go. Leaning forward, he deposits his cup on the table before turning to face his boyfriend.

Alec watches him with that single-minded focus of his, somewhat dulled by the fatigue clinging to his eyelashes. Reaching out, he gently cups Magnus’s cheek, and Magnus can’t but lean into the touch.

“I don’t think I can remember the last time you glamoured your eyes at home,” Alec notes, almost absently. It’s an invitation, and Magnus knows that if he chooses to ignore it, Alec won’t push. But Alec is right: he hasn’t glamoured his eyes when it’s just the two of them at the loft for _years,_ so the fact that he is, is definitely proof of how unsettled this nightmare left him.

“They’re a reminder of what I am,” he manages eventually, throat tight. _Hell spawn, unwanted, demon, unnatural._

_Abomination._

Alec’s thumb continues its featherlight caresses across Magnus’s cheekbone. It’s strangely soothing.

“You are a lot of things, Magnus Bane,” he says quietly. His lips quirk, but his eyes are knowing and sad. “But none of the things you’re currently thinking.”

Magnus thinks about his mother, and the grim sadness twisting her features as she brought the _keris_ down into his eyes.

He shudders.

Alec’s free hand strokes down his arm soothingly.

“You don’t have to unglamour them,” he continues, even softer still. “That’s not what I’m saying. I just want you to know that you _can,_ that I will _never_ look at you and see any of those things. I’ll never see anyone other than my boyfriend, who is generous, selfless, hot as hell, and by far the smartest person I know. _That’s_ who you are.”

His fingers idly brush through the hairs at Magnus’s nape.

“You told me once, when we first started seeing each other, that there was nothing wrong with me,” he murmurs, quiet but sincere. “There is nothing wrong with you either, Magnus.”

The words are so soft they’re hardly even a whisper, and yet they barrel through what was left of Magnus’s composure, bringing tears to his eyes.

Exhaling shakily, he leans into Alec’s waiting arms.

“I love you,” he mumbles brokenly into Alec’s neck, because that has always been and will always be the only thing that matters.

Alec kisses his temple.

“I love you, too. Always.”

And, making himself comfortable within the safe confines of Alec’s embrace, Magnus closes his eyes, simply breathes, and allows himself to believe.


	2. Bloody Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much for that word limit of <500 words, lol. Oh well, I tried.
> 
>  **Warnings:** Non-graphic description of a panic attack.

Alec scrubs at his hands.

Clear water splashes into his palms and streams from his fingers in rivulets of diluted red and murky brown, splattering the crystalline sink in specks of red. Images of a rapidly growing pool of crimson and terrified golden eyes flash through his mind.

Nausea churns in his stomach.

He keeps scrubbing at his hands.

“Alec!” Strong fingers suddenly close around his wrists and pull them from the scalding spray and he fights against it almost frantically—it’s still _there,_ in the creases of his hands, embedded in his nailbeds, dried streaks of rusty red, he’s not- he’s not _clean_ yet, he still needs to- he needs to—

“By the Angel, Alec,” Jace growls in frustration, manhandling him until his back hits the wall with enough force that the bathroom mirror shudders. “ _Stop!_ ”

Alec stares at him, his chest heaving. He hadn’t even realized how hard he was breathing.

“It won’t come out,” he chokes out. His throat aches, as if he’s been holding back tears. “I can’t- I need to get it _out._ ”

He knows he isn’t making any sense, hardly understands what he’s saying _himself,_ but Jace doesn’t bat an eye. Instead, he shifts his grip from Alec’s wrists to his shoulders, pinning him with his mismatched eyes.

“It _is_ out, Alec- no, hey, _Alec,_ listen to me. It’s out, okay?” Jace pulls him into a tight hug, one hand on the back of Alec’s head, pressing Alec’s face into his neck.

“You got it,” he whispers softly. “It’s out. You got all of it. Just breathe for a minute, buddy.”

Alec releases a shaky breath and feels it rattle through his entire body and then he’s full-on shivering.

“Easy,” Jace murmurs, free hand moving up and down Alec’s back in soothing motions. “You’re okay, he’s okay. Catarina just finished. He’ll be all right.”

Alec doesn’t know how long they stay like that. But after a while, the shudders subside and his breathing returns to more normal levels.

When he takes a step back, Jace lets him; but he keeps watching him with faint concern.

Alec’s attention immediately returns to his hands, and for a second, he’s back in that alley, thick rivulets of blood coating his hands and seeping through his fingers no matter how hard he pushes down on that ugly, gaping wound, pained gasps passing over lips stained red and _Alexander, Alexander, please_ —

He blinks, and his hands are their usual pale color, if slightly inflamed from the intense scrubbing.

Jace grabs his arm, “Come on,” and starts leading him from the room.

The Institute is quiet, only the night personnel tapping away at the panels in the Ops center when they make their way through. Catarina is closing the door to Alec’s bedroom just as they round the corner, looking tired but composed.

“He’s sleeping,” she says before they have a chance to ask. “He’ll be sore for a few days, but he’s going to be fine.”

Alec closes his eyes briefly, the relief making his head swim.

“ _Thank you._ ”

Catarina smiles sadly.

“He’s my friend,” she says simply. She reaches out and gives Alec’s arm a squeeze. “Call me if anything changes.”

Alec nods, and watches as she walks away.

When he turns back, Jace is looking at him searchingly.

“Come find me if you need me, okay?”

“Yeah,” Alec says, and suddenly he feels dumb with fatigue, both physical and emotional. Fuck, it’s been a long night. “Thanks, Jace.”

Jace’s lips quirk in a small smile, and then he disappears, too.

Despite Cat’s words, Alec gently eases the door to his room open, closing it behind him with a soft _click._ It takes his eyes a moment to adjust to the gloom, but even though he hardly ever uses this room anymore, he can still navigate to the bed without difficulty.

Magnus lies under the covers, features obscured in the dark. He’s terrifyingly still, but Alec sees the steady rise and fall of his chest, hears the faint whisper of air passing over his lips, and tired tears sting his eyes.

He changes in silence before carefully crawling into bed, finding a cool hand and entwining slightly chilled fingers with his own. Leaning in, he presses a lingering kiss to Magnus’s naked shoulder, exhaling heavily as something inside of him finally settles.

It takes a while, but he eventually falls asleep to the sound of Magnus’s steady breathing.


	3. Insomnia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s fading. He’s fading fast and he knows it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For someone who actually suffers from insomnia, I thought this would be rather easy to write; ironically, it was the hardest prompt to fill so far.

Magnus jerks awake for the nth time, eyes snapping open into near pitch-black dark. Some naïve part of him had hoped it was all just a dream: that he hadn’t allowed himself to be tricked by an old acquaintance with a grudge: that he hadn’t walked into a meeting expecting a grieving widower only to be met with a hoard of demons: that he hadn’t released enough magic not only to eviscerate most of his enemies, but also make the entire building collapse on top of him. 

The upside is that his show of power made the few remaining demons wary to approach him, so for now they’re keeping their distance; also, he didn’t get completely crushed in the wreckage, so there’s that. The downside is that he’s trapped, buried under layer after layer of heavy, impenetrable debris, and almost completely depleted of magic. He feels hollowed out down to his very bones, and he needs to sleep in order to recharge, but the demons are still there; Magnus can sense them lurking in the dark, waiting for an opening, waiting for sleep to dig its claws into him and pull him under, leaving him completely defenseless.

Another downside is that no one knows where he is.

Magnus has no idea how long he’s been here but it feels like _days,_ and when the shadows in his periphery start moving again, tired tears of frustration burn his eyes. A few hours—a few _fucking hours_ of reprieve, that’s all he’s asking for. Then he’ll blast these fiends back to Hell and portal himself out of this accursed place and directly into bed where he’ll stay for at least a week.

He shivers, the absence of sleep rattling his bones, each breath punched out of him in deep, shaky exhales that come further and further apart. He’s fading. He’s fading fast and he knows it, but not even the sting from pressing down on the gash in his left palm is enough to keep him vigilant.

Just for a minute, he thinks drowsily, head inching forward. Just for a few seconds…

“Magnus!”

Magnus squeezes his eyes shut, lips pressed together to hold back the whimper pushing against the back of his throat. He’s a centuries old, all-powerful warlock—being on the verge of tears because of a mind ghost conjuring up Alec’s voice is stupid, ridiculous: completely unbecoming.

But, fuck, he is _so tired,_ and he just really wants his boyfriend right now.

“ _Magnus!_ ”

Magnus frowns and forces his eyes to open, because that sounded disturbingly real…

There is the sound of the world tearing in two, the ground beneath him shuddering, and then he’s suddenly there. Magnus blinks, convinced he’s finally lost his mind—and not really finding it in him to care—but no, Alec _is_ there, light streaming in behind him through a hole that wasn’t there moments ago, seraph blade glowing white as it tears through demon after demon with graceful force and deadly accuracy until the blade is coated in black and the shadows have stilled.

Between one languid blink and the next, Alec is falling to his knees beside him, shaking hands reaching out to gently cup Magnus’s face.

“Thank the Angel,” he breathes, words soft and reverent like a prayer. His eyes are wide, dark circles underneath, frantically darting all over Magnus’s body. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

All Magnus can do is stare at him. His eyelids are so, so heavy.

“Tired,” he eventually manages, voice raspy from disuse.

“Right.” Alec nods, a little too vigorously. “Right. Come on, let’s get you out of here. Can you stand?”

Magnus shudders. He gives a jerky nod.

The moment Alec gets him upright, however, his legs immediately give way under him. His vision swims and Alec tightens his grip, as if he expected it.

“It’s okay,” Alec murmurs against his temple. “You can let go, Magnus. I got you.”

Magnus blinks stupidly, the words not making any sense, but then Alec adjusts his hold and scoops him up as if he weighs nothing, his face naturally coming to rest against Alec’s neck. There is the fleeting thought about the indignity of being carried, but Magnus’s eyes are already closing.

By the time they walk out of the nondescript crypt, Magnus is already fast asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this isn’t really insomnia, but it’s where my mind took me. What can you do.


	4. No, stop!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moment Alec gasps out in pain, Magnus’s world erupts in red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to whump Alec, but Magnus wouldn't let me...
> 
>  **Additional tags:** BAMF!Magnus + Protective!Magnus

The moment Alec gasps out in pain, Magnus’s world erupts in red.

Pure fury crashes over him like a tidal wave, all-consuming and unforgiving. Lava, thick like blood, hot like a raging bonfire, burns through him, flames of crimson vengeance coating his hands and shooting from his fingertips without him having to consciously call on it.

The rouge warlock smashes into the far-off wall with a loud crack that reverberates through the abandoned warehouse. Magnus doesn’t even register moving, doesn’t see the trail of slightly melted concrete he leaves behind every step, is deaf to the crackle of static in the air because how fucking _dare she_ harm Alexander.

Lorelei fights weakly against the fiery bonds encircling her body, but she isn’t going anywhere. Not until Magnus says so.

He fists his hand and Lorelei gives a choked off gasp.

“ _He,_ ” Magnus snarls, “is _off. limits._ ”

“You think you can protect him?” Lorelei mocks him. “What you’re doing, a warlock fornicating with _them,_ it’s _disgusting._ I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

“Oh, I’ll deal with the others, too,” Magnus says silkily, flashing predatory teeth. “But you, my dear, will serve as an example…”

“ _Magnus._ ” A hand firmly grabs his bicep, stopping his forward motion. There is only one person who would dare touch him when he’s this amped up—only one person his magic instinctively knows _never_ to lash out at.

“Magnus,” Alec repeats, voice hushed but urgent. “ _Enough._ ”

He sounds almost out of breath, and that’s when Magnus notices the magic. It surrounds them like a thick, suffocating blanket, crackling and snapping in fiery bursts like the very _air_ is alive. Lorelei’s face is twisted in obvious agony, but her eyes still hold that defiant glint, and they go dark with disgust and hatred when she glances in Alec’s direction, and Magnus feels the growl vibrating through his vocal chords because does she have _any idea who he is and what he could do to her?_

The grip on his arm tightens.

“ _Magnus, no. Stop._ I’m okay. It’s not worth it.”

It’s _not_ okay and it _would_ be worth it, Magnus seethes internally, angry magic bleeding from every pore in his body. But he recognizes that he might not be in the best position to make any kinds of life-or-death decisions right now.

The calming breath he inhales tastes like smoke and burning skies.

“If you value your life at all,” he says slowly, pinning Lorelei with glowing cat eyes because at some point, his glamour had apparently slipped. “You will never return here. And if I hear so much as a _whisper_ of your existence, I will hunt you down and drag you from whatever dark corner you’re hiding in and rain _hell_ upon you—and yes, I do mean _literal Hell._ ”

Lorelei’s pale complexion has gone almost translucent by the time Magnus finishes. She opens her mouth, but whatever she has to say, Magnus isn’t interested in hearing it. A flick of his wrist and she gives a strangled squeak before falling boneless to the ground.

Beside him, Alec sighs.

“Was that really necessary?”

“She’s not dead,” Magnus mutters—and if he sounds regretful over that fact, it’s because he is. “Just unconscious.”

“Are you okay?”

Magnus turns to face his boyfriend, who is watching him with faint traces of concern creasing his forehead. Magic still lies heavy in the air—though not near as menacing as before—and Magnus makes a conscious effort to rein it in.

“Perfectly peachy, darling,” he assures, when he feels less like a powder keg seconds from going off. “How about yourself?”

Alec huffs softly, shaking his head. But Magnus can see the fond smile threatening to take over his face.

“I’m good, Magnus. You saw to that.” He nods down at Lorelei’s crumpled form.

“The Institute and then home?” 

Magnus reaches out and entwines their hands, smiling.

“I would love nothing more, Alexander.”


	5. Poisoned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What's that purple goo on your hand?"

Magnus doesn’t even realize it until Jace points towards his left arm and asks _what’s that purple goo on your hand?_

He glances down and, sure enough, there are blotches of purple on his hand, tiny bubbles coloring his skin and visibly spreading up his arm from a small cut on the outside of his thumb.

He hums thoughtfully.

“It appears I have been poisoned.”

Then the world tilts, someone shouts his name, and everything goes dark.

.

When Magnus wakes up, it’s to a searing headache, a mouth that tastes suspiciously like something vile died in it, and hushed, angry voices.

“You were supposed to look out for him!”

“Alec, do I need to remind you that he’s the _High Warlock?_ ”

“I don’t _care,_ Jace! He’s also my _boyfriend,_ and he had absolutely _no reason_ to be on that, frankly _pointless_ mission with you!”

“I _know,_ okay, and I’m _sorry._ But he’s going to be fine, so don’t you think you’re overreacting a little?”

“Ex _cuse_ me?”

The words drive into his brain like icepicks and Magnus moans pitifully.

A brief moment of silence, and then the sound of rushed feet before the bed he belatedly realizes he’s lying on dips next to him. A door clicks shut.

“Magnus?”

No matter how unappealing the prospect, Magnus would rather prolong his own suffering than let Alec wallow for a moment longer in the worry clearly audible in his voice; so he pushes through the inviting dark and its promise of relief, and when he eventually manages to force open heavy eyelids, he is immediately rewarded with a beautiful pair of hazels peering down at him.

“There you are,” Alec breathes, entire posture relaxing in obvious relief. “How are you feeling?”

Magnus swallows, winces, and Alec reaches for something outside of Magnus’s view. A warm, calloused hand comes to cradle his aching head, gently lifting it enough for him to sip from the glass that is suddenly pressed to his lips. Water tinged with some herb Magnus can’t recognize in his dazed state soothes his scratchy throat and he closes his eyes in relief.

“Better?” Alec asks softly.

“Much.” Magnus sighs as his head is gently lowered back onto the pillow. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” A pause. “Do you remember what happened?”

Magnus groans—and not because of how his heart keeps beating mercilessly against his temples.

“Regrettably, I do.” He opens his eyes and gives Alec a knowing look. “It wasn’t Jace’s fault, Alec.”

Alec drags a hand through those thick raven locks and sighs.

“Yeah, I know. I’ll talk to him later.” Alec frowns at him. “Don’t ever do that to me again. When Jace called and said that you were hurt and that he couldn’t wake you up, I swear I almost had a heart attack.”

 _Now you know how I feel every time you go out on patrol._ It’s a feeling Magnus had (naively) hoped to spare Alec from, so when he mumbles, “I’m sorry,” he genuinely means it.

Alec leans down and places a featherlight kiss on Magnus’s forehead.

“I know. It’s okay.” He straightens. “Catarina extracted the poison and said that your magic would do the rest, but you should probably sleep some more.”

Magnus can’t deny that sleep sounds absolutely marvelous.

“Stay with me?”

Lean fingers gently card through his hair and Magnus’s eyes flutter closed on their own accord. Through the haze of impending sleep, he almost misses the whispered promise.

“I will. Forever.”


	6. Betrayed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He finds the letter in the bedroom, neatly folded atop his pillow...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had friends visiting so this one's a little late, but let's pretend it's still the 6th, yeah?
> 
> Also, I finally succeeded with my <500 word limit! I'm so proud of myself rn lol.

When Magnus comes home to a quiet loft, empty of a certain tall Shadowhunter who was supposed to be there, his stomach immediately sinks.

He finds the letter in the bedroom, neatly folded atop his pillow, and that ever-present, naïve sliver of hope he’d unconsciously held onto crumbles as he unfolds the thin paper leaf.

_Magnus,_

_I promised you once that I would never do anything to intentionally hurt you, and now I’m breaking that promise. It’s the last thing I’d ever want to do, and I’m sorry._

_I know you don’t want to hear it, but I have to do this. You told me this wasn’t my fight, but you’re wrong. “There is nothing I wouldn’t do to make you happy, or keep you safe,” remember? I meant it then, and I’ve meant it every day since. I’ll do anything for you—even when you don’t want me to._

_I want to tell you not to worry, but I know that you will. I’m sorry for that, too. I hope, when all this is over, that you’ll be able to forgive me._

_I love you. Be back soon._

_Alexander_

Magnus doesn’t know how long he stands there after he’s finished reading. He’s not surprised; Magnus knows his husband, and how he tends to react when someone he loves is threatened; he always knew this was a possibility. But he’d _begged him_ not to go, and Alec had _sworn_ to him that he would leave it be, had told Magnus _to his face_ that he wouldn’t get involved, that he wouldn’t put himself in harm’s way for such a _pointless_ vendetta as this, and betrayal brings angry, frustrated tears to Magnus’s eyes.

He leaves the bedroom, already dialing.

The phone is picked up on the third ring, and he doesn’t even give Izzy time to speak before demanding, “Where is he?”

There is a brief pause.

“Magnus…” Izzy begins, voice hesitant, and the fact that she clearly knows exactly what he’s talking about just twists the knife deeper.

“While I respect and appreciate your loyalty to your brother, Isabelle,” he interrupts coldly, “there is a _reason_ I asked him to stay out of this. This isn’t something he can take care of on his own. I need to know where he is and I need to know it _now._ ”

Across the line, Izzy sighs, relenting.

“I’ll send you the coordinates.”

Magnus hangs up.

Worry is a heavy weight on his chest, his mind buzzing with a combination of anxiety and despair and utter _fury,_ because his husband is a reckless, self-sacrificing _fool_ who still hasn’t learned that there are other ways to keep your family safe than to jump right in-between them and danger and someday, it’s going to get him _killed._

Not today, though. Not as long as Magnus has a say in it.

When the text comes through seconds later, a portal is already lighting up the living room and Magnus steps through, crimson flames licking his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering what the f*ck is going on, you're not the only one...


	7. Kidnapped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was an idiot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I am again, more than a week later, alive but mauled (thank you, life *gives life the finger because I'm bitter*). In retaliation, I completely threw my <500 word limit to the wind and more than doubled it in this fic (go me!).
> 
> One of these days, I'm going to succeed in whumping Alec Lightwood... today is not that day.
> 
>  **Additional tags:** Snarky Magnus + BAMF!Alec

He was an idiot.

The words have been on a loop in Magnus’s head for however long it’s been since their plan backfired and the goons they’d been chasing had managed to pluck him— _him,_ of all people—from the fray.

Plans that contained the element of someone playing bait always came with certain risks, but this time, as he’d had to explain to Alec _repeatedly,_ it couldn’t be helped. Too many warlocks had gone missing in the past month, turning up days or sometimes weeks later dead and completely drained of magic, and Magnus couldn’t let it continue any longer. He had to _do_ something.

Using himself as bait had seemed like a reasonable idea at the time, because what amateurs wouldn’t take the opportunity to try and capture the great High Warlock of Brooklyn?

Turns out, their adversaries were _far_ from amateurs. Former Circle members who had somehow managed to get their hands on a replica of the Malachi configuration—or maybe they’d built it themselves, who knew. Magnus hadn’t had time to move past his initial bafflement before they’d all but doused him in some thick, oil-smelling gas.

The last thing he’d heard before unconsciousness took him, was Alec frantically calling his name through the earpiece.

When he woke up sometime later, he found himself lying on the cold floor of a small, cave-like room, every bone in his body sore and aching. Trying to drag himself up, it wasn’t long before he noticed the unfamiliar weight around his neck: a collar. It was attached to a heavy chain that hung from his neck and split into three when it reached his sternum, going out onto either side of him to circle his wrists in two separate handcuffs, the third part ending in a metal ring fused—and probably magically so—into the stone floor. The chain was too short for him to stand—even sitting he couldn’t manage without having to slightly curve his back.

Trapped and tied down like an animal. The indignity of it chafes more than those godawful shoulder straps he’d worn during his embarrassing (but thankfully short) Western cowboy period, and Magnus feels his magic snap angrily underneath his skin. But it’s no use; whatever this contraption is, it not only leeches the magic from him but also prevents him from using it (he’d tried, and the results had been painful, to say the least).

Keys rattle the door into his prison, and Magnus forces his aching head up. It’ll take them quite some time to drain someone of his power completely of magic, but he’s acutely aware of how that small movement seems to take a little more effort every time his captors make an appearance.

Alec will come, he knows. They hadn't been able to find them before, and the earpiece was gone when he woke up, but Magnus isn’t too worried. Alec will come, and when he does…

The cut across his bruised left cheek stings as his lips curl into a smirk.

Hell hath no fury like Alexander Lightwood in a protective rage.

“What’re you smiling at, demon scum?” a Circle member, the one apparently in charge of pestering him to boredom, snarls. She gestures for the other two who entered with her to stay by the door and steps closer to him, peering down at him with her arms crossed over her chest. “Magic loss go to your head already? From your reputation, I would’ve expected you to last longer.”

Magnus straightens—as much as he’s able—and offers her a parody of a smile.

“Don’t concern yourself with me, dear,” he says sweetly. “If I were you, I would worry more about myself.”

His captor raises an unimpressed eyebrow. She is surprisingly young for a Circle member; she can’t have been much more than a toddler during the Uprising. But the disgust in her light blue eyes is something Magnus has seen directed at him plenty of times before.

“You mean Lightwood and his merry band of misfits?” She snorts. “Please. They’ve been chasing their tails for weeks trying to find us and failed. Why would they succeed now?”

Magnus shrugs. He shifts in a show to make himself comfortable—it’s impossible, because the ground is cold and hard, the metal is digging into his neck and chafing at his wrists, and he is tired and sore. But that’s not something she needs to know.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

She shakes her head.

“The High Warlock of Brooklyn…” She crouches down in front of him, the sudden twist of her lips feral. “Almighty and so fucking untouchable, look at you now.”

She grabs his chin, nails digging into Magnus’s cheeks painfully.

“You may be powerful among your people,” she hisses, “but in the end, you’re nothing but a filthy Downworlder, and _I_ caught you, in a public place and despite all your careful planning. _I_ did that.”

Magnus’s magic roars in furious indignation, and he just barely manages to hold back a wince as the collar burns his skin in reaction to the temporary slip of control.

“That was your mistake.”

“No,” she says. “The mistake is yours, thinking you could outsmart us, believing that your wannabe Shadowhunter boyfriend will somehow find you and swoop in to save the day…”

There is a loud crash from outside the door. The three Circle members in the room all freeze.

“Don’t just stand there,” the leader snaps after a moment. “Whatever it is, take care of it!”

Her two underlings scramble out the door.

Magnus raises an amused eyebrow at her.

“You were saying?”

The slap that follows isn’t exactly unexpected.

Magnus spits blood, his ears ringing so loudly he almost doesn’t hear the door burst open. One of the Circle members who had just exited the room comes tumbling through and lands face first on the floor, a knife sticking out of his back.

And then there he is, imposing figure taking up the entire doorway, eyes two pools of righteous fury and clothes and Seraph blade dripping blood, everything about him screaming violence.

Alec Lightwood looks less like an avenging angel and more like a tormentor of Hell, and Magnus can feel himself grinning.

“Alexander,” he greets lightly, an odd combination of exhilaration, relief, and heat flaring when those blazing hazels unerringly lock onto him. “So glad you could join us.”

He can pinpoint the exact moment when Alec notices the collar because he goes deathly still.

“Her?” his boyfriend asks, tilting his head minutely to indicate the remaining Circle member, although his eyes don’t leave the chains encircling Magnus’s neck and wrists. His voice is hard as flint, so frigid that Magnus fleetingly wonders if it has frozen his captor in place, because she still hasn’t moved.

He almost feels sorry for her for what is to come.

“Yes,” Magnus agrees. “But I would appreciate it if you could refrain from killing her, darling. I have a few choice words to say, myself.”

Alec gives him another lingering onceover, before he turns towards the woman, eyes narrowing and muscles flexing. A predator on the hunt. A ruthless killer yearning for blood.

A man seeking vengeance on whomever dared harm his loved one.

Magnus smiles and settles in.

_This is going to be fun._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHY DID THIS TURN SO LIGHTHEARTED I WANTED WHUMP DAMMIT


	8. Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s been hours, and he’s still choking on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just because October is over doesn't mean I have to leave this angst-filled sandbox, now does it?
> 
> Double whump ahoy!

“Are you sure we shouldn’t call Cat?”

The words tumble out of Alec’s mouth for the umpteenth time, unrestrained and apprehensive. He can’t help it, can’t rein them in, because Magnus looks…

Well. Magnus will never be anything but gorgeous in his eyes, but objectively speaking, he looks _awful:_ skin gray around flushed cheeks, golden eyes dull and lacking their usual luster, sweat gluing uncharacteristically floppy hair to his forehead.

He looks sick, which is exactly what he is. Even if he doesn’t want to admit it.

“So I can listen to her scolding me for being ‘irresponsible’ and telling me to ‘act my age?’” Magnus scoffs. His voice is hoarse, the words frail and fractured. “No, I’d rather not.”

“And if something happens?” Alec insists, unease prickling his skin. “What if you get worse?”

“Oh, don’t worry, darling, you’re doing just fine.” The hand Magnus uses to accentuate the dismissal visibly trembles before it flops back down onto the bed. “I’ve been through magical depletion more times than I’d like to admit, and far worse than this: I remember this one time in Tibet when I was so delirious I started speaking in tongues, and another in Madrid when I fell unconscious while riding a donkey. It’s a wonder I didn’t break my neck in the fall…”

_“Will you stop.”_

It bursts out of him, loud and raw, and god _dammit,_ he knows it’s not the same, nothing about this entire _situation_ is the _same_ —and yet, Alec had felt it all again tonight, the horror and visceral denial, same as when the Soul Sword went off at the Institute, but this, tonight, it had been _worse;_ at least back then, in the absence of any definitive proof, he’d still had _hope._

But for those hour-long seconds from when he’d found Magnus lying still on the ground to when he felt a weak pulse beating irregularly against his trembling fingers, there had only been fear.

It’s been hours, and he’s still choking on it.

“Alec…”

Alec presses thumb and forefinger into suddenly burning eyes and fights to wrestle it back under control.

“This isn’t a joke,” he says quietly, voice hoarse. “Your health isn’t a joke, you using enough magic to _pass out_ for several minutes isn’t a joke, me thinking you were _dead_ isn’t a joke, so will you just- stop laughing it off, stop deflecting, stop pretending that you’re fine when you’re not, just…” Alec exhales shakily. “Just stop. Please.”

Silence reigns, heavy and tense in the bedroom.

“Hey.”

Alec looks up, meeting soft, golden eyes, feverish and slightly unfocused though no less beautiful, and suddenly he’s sitting on the bed, taking a dry, too-warm hand into his own.

“I’m sorry,” Magnus says, words leaving on a trembling sigh. “I didn’t mean to make light of what happened, or to upset you. But you have to believe me when I tell you that I’ll be _fine,_ Alexander. If I look anything like I feel, I realize that doesn’t come as much of a reassurance…” He squeezes Alec’s hand, offering a small smile. “But I _promise you_ that I will.”

Alec exhales heavily, shoulders slumping.

He nods.

“Yeah, I know.” He raises their joint hands and brushes his lips over Magnus’s knuckles. “I know. Sorry for yelling at you.”

Magnus shakes his head, smiling.

“Don’t apologize. Your reaction was completely justified.” He continues, somewhat reluctantly, “However, I _was_ serious about that incident in Tibet, so if I start making zero sense…”

“Don’t know how I’d be able to tell…”

“…then you might want to consider calling Catarina,” Magnus finishes, his mouth twitching. “You are the _worst_ boyfriend, you know.”

Alec kisses Magnus’s damp forehead.

“I’m sorry.” _For not being there, for not doing more, for allowing this to happen to you in the first place._

Straightening, Alec regards his boyfriend critically.

“How about we put this conversation on hold until you’re better, and for now you just let me take care of you, huh?”

Magnus hums, eyes fluttering closed when Alec uses his free hand to card through his limp hair.

“I think I can live with that,” he mumbles sleepily.

 _That’s the idea,_ Alec thinks, heart giving a painful tug, acutely aware of how close he came to losing this tonight, to losing _Magnus._

He knows, with aching certainty, that there would’ve been no recovering from that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, WE HAVE A DATE FOR 3B!!!! I simultaneously want to dance around shouting in glee and crawl under a rock and cry my soul dry. I swear, these last few months have been the most emotionally scarring roller coaster ride of my entire life.


End file.
